Even MORE impractical gifts for #writers. #SundayBlogShare #Christmas

It’s been a tough year for writers. Sure, we tell lies about our imaginary friends write stories, but it really works best if our worst fears stay within their 85K word count instead of becoming presidential candidates.

Frankly, as the holidays approach this year, that special writer in your life needs more from you than pretending (again) to read their book or even buying it on Amazon. (Again.) They need you to go beyond reminding them about personal hygiene, putting on pants before they go out, or if they’ve been arguing with their characters out loud. (Again.)

Right now, your special writer needs some love. And what better time to show you care than the holiday season? Luckily, there are a lot of absolutely senseless gifts to gladden the heart of any writer. Last year I offered writerly-gift suggestions–

In addition to all those mentioned in last year’s writers gifts post here, I’ve got a few more essentials.

Peace and Quiet. There isn’t a writer alive who doesn’t want to scream “STFU World!” express their desire for some version of the Cone of Silence. Until science catches up to TV though, you might try getting your writer away from it all. If you think outside the grid, peace might actually be cheaper than you might expect—

The well-dressed writer. Mwa-ha-ha-ha. Okay, there are a metric ton of T-shirts and other apparel items bearing writerly admonitions. But let’s face it. One of the enormous advantages of being a writer is that you never have to get dressed up. Or get dressed, for that matter. If any writers get up, pull on a clean and pressed outfit, and do their hair…well, I don’t know them, but I do hope their new live-in lover lasts past that first week, because I’m pretty sure the grooming won’t. So instead I’ll add in a few de rigeur grammar nazi items, the odd T-shirt, and a baby outfit because you can never start their programming too young.

Stocking stuffers. If your writer has been very goodpretty good hasn’t actually been arrested this year:

**I can’t be the only writer who wants a dog named Damn Spot JUST so I can tell him “Out, Damned Spot.” [Image credit: The Literary Gift Company ]

There isn’t a writer alive who isn’t an expert at this. You might want to pair it with a manicure set for avoidance nail-grooming, or a pair of scissors for making regrettable hair-trimming decisions. [Image credit: Etsy]

Genre-specific. —

For your favorite thriller writer— Is that a gun in your USB or are you just happy to write it? [Image Credit: Amazon]

Of course, there is a fabulous gift that every writer dreams of but may be too shy to ask for themselves. It’s the one thing that every single person they know could do for them. It’s easy, and (in these days of below-subsistence-level book pricing) it’s even cheap. You can buy their book, read it, and then—here comes the gift part—write a review. Just tick off some stars, say a few words about almost anything at all (but the book is a good place to start) and you’re done. You don’t have to write a gift tag or wrap anything. Believe me, your writer will think it’s the best present you could ever give. (Unless you happen to be on the nominating committee for the Booker prize, of course. In that case, you might want to go with the two best words ever written.)

What’s the best gift for writers you’ve ever given or received?

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I have a box of those band-aids. My favourite quote is: “Thou are a scoundrel, a naive, and an eater of broken meats.” (I’m not going to do your work for you. I had to look up what the hell broken meats meant, so you can do it too.)

I actually know that one! (Not, of course, from being an English Lit major, but from a short-lived but intense office Shakespearean insult competition.) It’s Kent’s epic insult from King Lear—

“A knave, a rascal, an eater of broken meats; a base, proud, shallow, beggarly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy, worsted-stocking knave; a lily-livered, action-taking knave; a whoreson, glass-gazing, super-serviceable finical rogue; one-trunk-inheriting slave; one that wouldst be a bawd in way of good service; and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander, and the son and heir of a mongrel bitch; one whom I will beat into clamorous whining if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition.”

I was particularly fond of “the son and heir of a mongrel bitch”, which I used once to very little effect at a Ren Fair in California.

“If any writers get up, pull on a clean and pressed outfit, and do their hair…well, I don’t know them, but I do hope their new live-in lover lasts past that first week, because I’m pretty sure the grooming won’t.”

Funny stuff! I threw all my clothes away a long time after I started writing. I became socially inept, unacceptable, and now suffer from social anxiety. But at least I don’t have any laundry to do anymore.

I’ve got one of those waterproof notebooks but I haven’t used it yet. I think I’m supposed to go for a walk in the rain and be inspired.
You can get a pen which shines a light on your notebook so when you wake in the night you can jot down that brilliant idea. I want one of those if I can find where the DH can buy it.